The Forced Bride

The Rossi estate looked different in daylight. Soft sunlight spilled through the arched windows, glinting off marble floors and polished brass. The scent of strong coffee and blooming jasmine drifted through the air. Somewhere far off, she heard faint piano notes-low, melancholic, deliberate. Valentina hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him, the flash of silver in his gaze, the heat of his breath against her ear, the calm cruelty in his words. My name. My mark. My child. The thought alone sent a tremor down her spine. A maid entered quietly, laying a tray on the nightstand. "Signora Rossi," she murmured, eyes downcast. "The master asks that you join him for breakfast." Valentina froze at the title. Signora Rossi. The words felt like iron shackles. Still, she nodded. "Tell him I'll be down." The maid hesitated, then added softly, "He doesn't like to wait." She found him in the sunroom. The morning light poured through tall windows, setting the gold accents of his cufflinks aflame. He stood near the table, reading the newspaper, a cup of espresso untouched beside him. The scene was domestic-almost peaceful-except for the unmistakable power that clung to him like another layer of clothing. "You're late," he said without looking up. She bit back a sharp reply. "I didn't realize my new husband kept military time." He folded the paper, finally meeting her gaze. "In my world, punctuality can mean survival." "Are we at war?" she asked dryly. A hint of a smirk. "Always." He gestured for her to sit. The table was set with fresh pastries, fruit, and imported cheeses-luxury arranged with precision. She sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap. He poured coffee for both of them, the act surprisingly... gentle. "Eat," he ordered. "I'm not hungry." His gaze lifted, patient but edged. "You will eat." She reached for the cup instead, her pulse fluttering beneath her calm. "You can't control everything, Alistair." "Can't I?" he murmured, taking a slow sip. A silent, invisible war neither of them could name. He studied her across the table. "You're braver than I expected." "I'm not brave," she said, staring into her cup. "Just trapped." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Trapped people beg. You challenge me." Her lips twitched. "Maybe I'm just stupid." He chuckled, a rare sound, deep and unexpectedly warm. "Perhaps. But I prefer the word fearless." Their eyes locked. The silence stretched, thick and unspoken. For the briefest moment, the world outside seemed to still. Then he stood abruptly, breaking the spell. "Come," he said. "There's something I want to show you." The corridors wound endlessly, each turn revealing another fragment of the Rossi empire: grand halls lined with ancient portraits, rooms filled with quiet wealth and history. They stopped before a pair of wrought-iron doors leading to the gardens. Sunlight streamed through the glass, turning the air gold. Alistair pushed the doors open. The garden was breathtaking. Roses climbed trellises in deep crimson and ivory. A marble fountain trickled softly, surrounded by olive trees that swayed in the breeze. It was the first beauty she'd seen since being taken. Valentina inhaled deeply. "I didn't think a man like you cared for things that grow." "Even predators need peace," he said. She turned to him. "Do you find it here?" He looked past her, toward the fountain. "Sometimes. When the noise in my head quiets." There it was, something in his voice, something human. Fragile. Fleeting. She studied him carefully. "Is that why you wanted me here? To see that you're not all teeth and power?" He met her gaze, expression unreadable. "I brought you here because I wanted you to know this will be your home. If you behave." "And if I don't?" "Then I'll remind you why people fear my name." The words should have chilled her. But instead, her pulse quickened. "Is fear all you know, Alistair?" she whispered. "Or are you capable of something else?" He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "Careful, bella mia. Curiosity can be dangerous." "I'm already in danger," she said. Their eyes met again, and something shifted between them slowly, magnetic, inevitable. The air grew heavier. He reached out, tracing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek. For one heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Then, he froze. His body went rigid, nostrils flaring as if catching a scent. His eyes darkened, glowing faintly silver under the sun. "Alistair?" He turned away sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Go inside." "What." "Now." His tone wasn't cruel-it was desperate. She hesitated, watching his shoulders tense, his breath grow shallow. And then she saw it-the faint shimmer of veins beneath his skin, pulsing like light through glass. "What's happening to you?" she whispered. "Nothing you need to see," he said through clenched teeth. She didn't move. "It's the curse, isn't it?" He spun, eyes bright and inhuman. "I said go!" For the first time, she saw it fully-the beast beneath the man. The perfect mask cracking. But instead of running, she stepped closer. Slowly. "You're fighting it," she murmured. "You're in pain." His breathing quickened. "Valentina." "You hide it from them. From everyone." She reached up, fingers trembling as they brushed the side of his jaw. His skin was burning. "You don't want to be this, do you?" He caught her wrist, but not harshly. His grip trembled. His eyes, now flickering between silver and gray, locked on hers. "You don't understand," he rasped. "The more you see me, the less safe you are." "Then stop hiding," she said softly. Something broke inside him-she saw it in the way his expression faltered, the way his thumb brushed her pulse like he needed proof she was real. He leaned forward, lips ghosting dangerously close to hers. "You shouldn't care," he murmured. "Maybe I don't," she whispered, but the lie was too fragile to stand. For a moment, time held its breath. His forehead pressed against hers, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest-not anger, not hunger, but something raw and broken. Then, just as she thought he'd close the space between them. A scream tore through the courtyard. It was distant, female, terrified. Alistair's head snapped up. He released her instantly, the softness gone from his eyes. "Stay here," he ordered, voice all command again. "Who was that?" she demanded. He didn't answer. He was already moving-swift, silent, a shadow cutting across the sunlight. Valentina's heart thundered. The scream echoed again, and then-silence. She took a step toward the garden gate, but something at the edge of the fountain caught her eye. A glint of metal. She knelt, reaching into the water. Her fingers closed around a chain-delicate, gold, familiar. Her mother's necklace. The one buried with her years ago. Her breath caught in her throat. She looked toward the path Alistair had taken, the rose petals drifting like blood on the breeze. What was her mother's necklace doing here-on the Rossi estate? And what did Alistair Rossi have to do with it?